


Journeys in Shadow

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The boys go far, maybe too far.





	Journeys in Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Journeys in Shadow by Jessica Harris

Title: Journeys in Shadow (snippet)  
By: Jessica Harris  
Rating: NC/17 for darkness and violence, S&M content. Not hugely explicit, but dark.  
Summary: M/K. The boys go far, maybe too far.  
Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit.  
Notes: This is a snippet directly inspired by a passage in Te's "Shadows of Better Men" and is posted with her permission. One version of the Mulder Krycek might wish to create . . .  
Thanks to Te for her gorgeous visions.   
Feedback: Sure, but remember *I'm* not into bloodsports so be gentle! 

* * *

===================  
Journeys in Shadow  
Jessica Harris  
03/01/99  
===================

I knew it had to happen eventually. I, of all people, should have realized that secrets have a way of making themselves known. I should have been better prepared when Scully stumbled in on us.

It's easy to say that I should have bolted the door, that we should never have used my apartment for our purposes anyway. But if it hadn't been that it would have been something else that gave us away. What I should have done was have some words ready, some way to talk about what we were doing.

Though I don't think she would have listened. I'll never forget the look on her face when she saw us, when she took in Alex stretched out painfully over the padded bench, when she registered what I wore, what I held in my hands. That awful look and all she said was "*Krycek*, Mulder? Why him?"

I suppose I should be grateful that that was all she asked. She knows me better than I might wish. But it was one of the hardest questions to give her an answer to.

Why him? Him because of his soft skin and his hoarse cries. Because he has seen what I have seen and more, because he has deep dark eyes that understand the things I cannot speak. Because his cock gets hard when I cuff his hands behind his back, when I slide my belt from my belt-loops, when I promise him terrible things. 

Him because it couldn't be anyone else, not here, not like this. There's no one else who could ever be a part of what we have become.

To Scully it probably looked like I was the one in control. It was my body wearing this shell of leather, my voice speaking these commands, my hands wielding these implements of pain and pleasure.

But really it's him. He lets me take him places where no one else would venture, and these are the places I call home now, where I feel the blood sing in my veins, discover pieces of myself I didn't even know were missing.

Without him I would never have gotten here.

Every mark on his skin tells of how deeply I am bound to him. Our beginnings were in the welts left by hands, by belts, by whips. Later our bond was written in the clean slits of blades (the song of bright blood on pale skin a mere afterthought to that moment when his flesh parts beneath my tools), in the braille of the burns and those near-invisible silver dots where needles (hollow, of course, coring small slivers of flesh from him) have been slid clean through his skin. All of these marks have their invisible equivalent on me, *in* me, and though you can't see them they have changed me beyond measure, are far more ineradicable than his. I will never be free of them.

Him, Scully, because his moans when I finally stop and gather him to me (to feed him comfort, rewards) are so sweet . . .

and him because when I *don't* stop and we travel a little further, a little deeper, because then his moans are sweeter still.

Even when his face contorts with screams around the gag, even when his lids slit nearly shut and tears leak from their corners, I know that if I look into those eyes (so dark, so dark, so deep, so *dark*, Scully) I will see that he is exactly where he wants to be.

And so am I. I can still hear your footsteps in the hall, Scully, as you run from what you have discovered, and I know I should go after you, try to explain. But I can't stop now, can't leave. I shut the door again and turn back to Alex on the bench. His mouth is invisible beneath the device that silences it and his body is stretched too tight to move but I can sense the welcome in him, the smile in his eyes. Maybe I wanted you to see this, Scully, to see this and bear witness. Maybe the only words I need are those to tell you this: that I am right where he wants me to be, and I can no longer imagine being anywhere else.

end


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